


When The SIS Comes Knocking

by Haospart



Series: Droids Are Friends [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: I'm enamored with the RE promo droid so guess what i gave myself, Some Humor, Swearing, The Force, i can never remember to do the Star Wars Swears so this is just regular swearing, it's the RE droid, let smugglers say fuck, probably more mechanical talk than strictly necessary but i'm a dork soooo, tense situations, the SIS comes knocking, using the Force for mundane things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25971328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haospart/pseuds/Haospart
Summary: So I'm a dork and wrote a setup for 'i need to get on dromund kaas as a republic character' and uh, that's this.  It's also characterization setup bc i've never written anything for this pal before lol.The SIS came a-knockin for Nikiat's scout droid, which unfortunately ruffles some metaphorical feathers.
Series: Droids Are Friends [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1885012
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	When The SIS Comes Knocking

It had been a normal day, just another regular, entirely ordinary day in the shop. Nikiat was laying on the ground underneath a speeder, a small welder in one hand and an audio-diagnostic tool in the other. The diagnostics weren’t going well. They didn’t know why they kept trying to use that stupid thing, it didn’t work as well as advertized for electrical problems, and it did all of jack shit for issues with things like  _ physics _ and the  _ machine _ problems. Some things just couldn’t be fixed by jamming a commlink into a port, and a bent hunk of  _ something _ on a speeder counted for one of those things. That kind of problem would take an old fashioned approach, a wrench and some muscle.

They dropped the diagnostic tool down onto the ground, brows furrowed and a frown creeping onto their face. They dropped the welder down on their chest, where a vibrocutter also rested. Maybe not the safest place for a sharp object, but they hadn’t put on their toolbelt and if they put it on the floor they were sure to impale their hand on it when they reached for it next.

With the utter failure of modern technology to diagnose the problem with the speeder, Nikiat tilted their head back to rest on the ground and lifted their hands to the hull of the thing. A quick look would bring more answers than waiting for the diagnostics to announce to the room what was wrong with it.

They took a breath, and another, focusing on feeling out the three dimensional space below their fingers. One more deep, calming breath, and on the slow, even breath out, they dove into the Force. They slowly made a mental map. The metal, the open space, the wiring, everything in the speeder, searching and prodding gently at the delicate inner workings and the sturdier framing, looking for the spot that was causing the awful, burning smell when riding.

Oh? What was that? Something bent in a way it wasn’t supposed to be, is what. In fact, two somethings. A chunk of metal had been bent and curled upwards, making a bowl shape. It should have been bent downwards, and another mangled piece of metal was underneath it. The mangled piece had bumped up against the top chunk too many times, forced it into the wrong position. Weird. And- aha! A rock, or something.

Debris caught in the inner workings had mangled the insides a little bit. Not unfixable, but they were underneath the oil, and nearby to certain heating elements, so those things would have to be fixed. Either Nikiat could take the whole speeder apart from the bottom up until they got to the offending piece so they could bend it back into place with a set of pliers or a hammer,  _ or _ they could try to unbend it, dislodge the debris and unbend the metal as they were. With the Force.

It wasn’t the first time they’d done such a thing, but it  _ was _ rather taxing. It required a lot of focus. On the other hand, it was a timesaver.

“Era?” they murmured, low and calm, keeping their awareness deep in the machine. Only a cursory level of consciousness was portioned off to listen out for the little scout droid. If anything  _ truly _ came up, the little droid would make sure that Nikiat knew in a moment.

The whirring sound of motorized parts and the  _ tap tap tap _ of little metal feet on the duracrete floor heralded the little droid, an RE model, not exactly designed for a mechanic’s shop but the two of them made do. The droid beeped and whistled an affirmative, announcing his presence to the Miralukan mechanic.

It brought a slow, languid smile to Nikiat’s face, deep as they were in the relaxation that they needed to see so deep and precise into the Speeder. They hummed, “Can you take the tools for me? I’ll be digging into it from here, I won’t need the tools to take it apart or anything.”

A low whistle and another couple beeps, and the vibrocutter was lifted off their chest. A scraping sound, the cutter being kicked towards one of the  _ many _ shelving, drawer, and then the welder was removed as well. It was kicked across the floor too, and the droid chased the two tools. A couple more scraping sounds and two gentle  _ clunks _ and the mechanic was reassured that the tools had made it into at least one of the boxes they had designated for Era’s use.

“Thanks, bud,” they spoke slow, sedate in the Force.

And so they set to work, dropping their awareness of the outside world, except for the most fundamental of sensory experiences. Era would be able to alert them if anything needed their attention. He was a good little droid. Had a rough vocabulary, a truly astounding number of creative insults and expletives, and a whole  _ host _ of colorful phrases at his disposal, but he was a good droid.

Nikiat slowly worked their mind around the debris, found it breakable,  _ good _ , that would make it easier to remove. Break it down enough and it would just need an extra blast with an air compressor to filter out of the speeder entirely. A slow breath in and they were crushing it, letting it crumble and break apart along its natural weak points. They chased the pieces down, took them further apart, until they were certain that a solid blast of air would remove it.

On to the bent parts, it took some work, some real precise, sharp manipulations with the Force to correct the lower piece, the small, mangled sheet of metal. It was, however, corrected. The second was easier, only had to be turned down. The mechanic held the metal in their mind and with the Force, and gently bent it down into its original shape. Something shifted, a strange sound, but they managed after a few short moments to correct the intended malformation.

And so it was, without any further warning, burnt oil poured out of a crevice in the hull of the speeder directly onto Nikiat’s face. They spluttered, jerked violently out of their focused trance, and their entire body dropped suddenly a few inches, painfully, to the floor. No time to react to  _ that _ , that apparently they’d floated up off the floor--again--with the much more pressing and  _ disgusting _ experience of burnt motor oil in the mouth. They turned over onto their side, lifting themself up on one arm while spitting out as much of the oil as they could manage. 

They could hear Era laughing at them from across the room, a sound somewhere between a chitter and a series of beeps. They dragged a hand across their face and shook it off, an attempt to remove some of the offending liquid that likely only smeared it around.

“It wouldn’t be nearly as funny if it was you!” they called back to the droid, who let out another peal of laughter in Binary, “Doesn’t taste good at all.”

Nikiat wiped their mouth with a sleeve, closer to the elbow to avoid as much oil as possible reentering their mouth. They crawled out from under the speeder on their stomach, then pulled themself to their feet with a groan.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, otherwise I don’t think you’d get away with being as much of a little shit as you are,” they laughed. They walked up to their desk, grabbing the grungy towel that lived there to wipe off as much of the nastiness as possible. It would  _ definitely _ need to be washed after this, add another set of stains to the fabric. Already it was so worn from the daily effort of keeping up with Nikiat that it was nearly unrecognizable from how it had been bought. At one point it  _ had _ been green, but somewhere along the line it had turned a mottled shade of red and brown, with hardly an undertone of the old green.

Not that color or stains were anything important to Nikiat. They didn’t exactly have  _ eyes _ with which to perceive color or stains. Just the Force to keep them apprised of their environment.

“Any better?” they turned towards Era, arms out to the side and turning their head this way and that for the droid’s appraisal once they had given their face a proper towelling down.

A skeptical yet affirmative series of boops and whistles followed, which earned the droid a laugh.

“Better than nothing I guess. Here- hop on, I’m done being on the floor,” they knelt, put an arm out for the small scout droid to climb aboard and settle in his usual spot, perched like a parrot on the mechanic’s shoulder, gripping onto thick leather straps that they wore specifically to provide stability for the droid.

Era bumped its head against Nikiat’s cheek affectionately, letting loose another short, complicated series of whistles, beeps, and clicks.

“Yeah, I love you too. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get that upgrade for you though,” a sad beep, “I know, but I really screwed myself giving that discount on the last starship repair. I’m going to be scouring for busted speeders for a while to get myself out of  _ that _ hole. It’s going to be a pretty bare couple of weeks for us. And I’ve still got to keep up payments on the hangar for  _ our _ ship. I have that space reserved for the next couple of months, but that’s only as long as that sort-of grace period lasts. If I miss out on the rent now then I’ll lose that leeway later. Gotta keep that sort of thing available for as long as I can. No telling when I’ll need  _ that _ .”

“Interesting place for a Force sensitive of your caliber.”

Nikiat whipped around, reaching out a hand to their worktable. Their blaster jumped willingly into their hand. Era chirped a protest, but lowered himself into a guarded position, the majority of his body behind Nikiat’s back, but keeping an eye on the situation in a way that Nikiat couldn’t.

“Who are you?” they quirked an eyebrow, tilting their head in a way that imitated a stern glare.

“Woah woah, hold up a little there, no need to jump out of your skin. I’m Republic. SIS. Heard you’ve got a scout droid, was hoping we could borrow it for a bit,” the man, a human by the signature, the impression he left on Nikiat’s mind, and by Era’s quiet running commentary.

The man held up something, some foldable thing, potentially a certification or badge or something, which earned him a deadpan look.

“You’re really trying to use visual confirmation to reassure the person without eyes?”

“Well, considering we want your  _ droid _ more than you, it is more for its benefit than yours. If you’d like to confirm with the RE-”

“His name is Era,” they frowned, this didn’t bode well, but they turned their head a few degrees towards the small droid and spoke quietly, “This guy legit?”

The droid let off a stream of whistles and beeps, a full analysis of the supposed SIS agent standing in their garage.

The guy seemed legit, at least to the droid. The badge was correct, had the right signal and looked SIS, from what reference material was available. He was tall, well, taller than Nikiat which wasn’t exactly a  _ difficult  _ feat but it was by a decent chunk. The agent was lean muscle under casual clothing. Debatable if Nikiat would be able to fight him off if they had to. First rule of fighting? Don’t do it. Second rule? Don’t do it with anyone who looks  _ trained _ .

Not that Nikiat had taken that advice for long, defending your space and your shit in the world meant getting into scuffles with some nasty characters. Still, they’d managed to carve out a little notch for themself with their attitude, bright and pleasant, if overly casual. They remained a somewhat nebulous constant in the neighborhood. People often forgot that they hadn’t always been there, or assumed that they were newer to the neighborhood than they were.

Make friends with the right people, be good with them, and it gets you a free pass from some of the more alarming shenanigans that go on.

Their frown deepened, but they set the blaster back down on the table, “Why do you want him? He’s not for sale. Or  _ rent _ .”

“It’s a security matter, scout droids like yours are in short supply for this kind of assignment, hard to find some with enough experience to be  _ creative _ like we need. We’ve been monitoring yours for a while, looks perfect for the job-”

“No. You don’t get to have him on some vague pretense of ‘security’. Creativity means you want him for something that could get him destroyed. It’ll require improvisation and out-of-the-box thinking. He’s a scout droid,  _ you _ want to send him somewhere difficult to infiltrate where he’ll get a blaster through the processor if he gets seen or caught. Details, agent. Gimme,” they plopped their hands on their hips, shifting their weight to one leg and inclining their head in the most irritably expectant look they could manage.

Era whistled a warning, a quiet, nervous alert. They saw it, clear in the Force. The agent unholstered his blaster, held it casually at his side but had popped it out of the holster nonetheless.

“I am not permitted to divulge that information to you. You will be paid for the services of the droid, and compensated for a replacement if it is destroyed on the job.”

“No-”

“I am also authorized to take the droid, by force if necessary. I’m not leaving without the droid.”

Well. Fuck. Fucking  _ shit  _ that wasn’t good. Authorized to commandeer the droid meant it was some serious shit. And fighting the SIS? They didn’t have the credits to relocate after something like that, or stay ahead of it. Never fight anyone you know you won’t win against,  _ run _ . But this wasn’t a problem they could reliably escape. But they weren’t about to let Era go into that shit alone.

Not alone.

They stood taller, readjusted their weight to stand firm, an aggressive stance that brokered no argument, “Then I’m going with him. You’re not sending him into danger alone.”

“What?” well that seemed to confuse the agent, his voice, which had been slowly lowering with a grim determination, lifted. Threw him off his rhythm.

“I said you’re not sending him in alone. If he has to go, I’m going with him. We’re a package deal. Details. Now.”

“I can’t give that-”   
  
“ _ Where are you sending him _ ,” a demand, not a question. Not really.

The agent sighed, and Era gave a quiet, slow whistle. Nikiat quirked an eyebrow, gesturing outward with their arms in an ‘I’m waiting’ sort of motion.

“Dromund Kaas. The Citadel.”

_ Shit _ , they hadn’t predicted  _ that _ . Heart of the Empire? What the hell did the Republic need a droid to get in there for?

“That’s why we can’t send  _ you _ with the droid. You’re a Republic citizen, and we’re not in the job to send civilians into the heart of the enemy. You’re a mechanic, you meet a Sith and you’re dead in an instant.”

“And you’re willing to send  _ my _ droid in? He doesn’t have any stealth protocols. He’s a smart cookie but you’d be sending him to his death if you sent him alone. I’m going with him. I can take care of myself-” they argued, furiously, having made up their mind the moment the agent had threatened to take Era by force.

“Look, I don’t know what you’ve had to handle around here, but a Sith is out of your league.”

Nikiat reached out their left hand, stretching their arm out to the side, and felt for a distinctive, cold signature in the Force. Buried in a box of scrap metal, nondescript, lay an entirely unremarkable rod of metal and mechanics, except for the tiny, pained and pulsing crystal carried in its core. They found it, the touch of fury still simmering in the hunk of rusted metal.

The miraluka pulled, hard, at the encased anger, and the metal rod shot out of the box and into their hand. The instant their hand closed around the hilt, found the button, the lightsaber lit up, twin blood-red blades crackling to life. An assassin’s blade, held strong in the hand of the mechanic, shut the agent up with an audible  _ click _ of teeth. The hilt was rusted, held together by an unreasonable amount of tape and the occasional spot weld, but it worked.

“I’ve fought Sith before. I can handle myself. I can  _ cloak _ myself. I’m going with him,” they listed their demands as though it was a hostage negotiation. And, in a way, it was. A negotiation for the life of their best friend, “And I’ll need at least a couple thousand credits. You’re not getting us for cheap. This’ll put me out of proper work for a bit, if I’m right about this. So again. Details.  _ Gimme _ .”

He gave in.

They’d be heading into the heart of the Empire to rescue some Republic Senator or another, someone important, a political prisoner. If the Empire managed to break them, the things they could get out of the Senator could kill off public opinion of the Republic. Whatever. It was Era’s job. Nikiat would be there to provide cloaking, easy transportation, and keep their little friend alive.

  
Nikiat and Era were a package deal. They’d do it  _ together _ .


End file.
